"I've been roof hopping all over Midtown Manhattan...took several bold shots (I almost killed myself hanging off a wobbly watertower ladder for these) late yesterday eventide after this woman (a woman beachcomber when she's not in NYC) said suddenly, 'Wolfie, look at that sunset...' I didn't hesitate. I grabbed my big clumsy Toshiba from out of my big clumsy Mexican briefcase and hit her roof--after it was over, I lay satisfied on that roof for about 4 hours I was so proud of myself--instead of flying to Ireland with a Donegal lass--I slept on a Manhattan rooftop last night--and, man, was that moon on the verge of bringing out some yowling from me...my intergalactic message: 'topple the New World Order!'"
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New Photos From tgw
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"So, from out of the briarpatch of roofs in which I meander like a roof rabbit come I to glory...grilling legs of little lambs tonight on some roof...and for some stray reason remembering what that smart dog said when asked who (at that time) the greatest home-run hitter in baseball was--the dog thought a minute and then confidently said, "Roof, Roof, Bayyyroof!"--the audience immediately jeered and left without dropping a dime one saying, "That's a phony bunch of shit--talking dog, my ass--he barked 'roof'--that's what any damn dog barks. Bah, humbug." After the crowd departed, the dog turned to the master and asked, "What should I have said, Gehrig?" It's Major League Baseball All-Star Game night at Yanqui Stadium--ah the air is sweet and I'm flush with cash--what the hell cares do I need?"
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thestaff
for The Daily Growler
3 comments:
Hey, you remembered the silly joke I told you! Loved the roof hopping photos. I miss my beautiful city and your roof photos of Manhattan always make me happy.
Great pix! Damn, I miss the city.
Hey Growly, here's a New York poem for you by your friend Ez (in thanks, from me, for your NY photos):
N.Y.
-Ezra Pound
My City, my beloved, my white! Ah, slender,
Listen! Listen to me, and I will breathe into thee a soul.
Delicately upon the reed, attend me!
Now do I know that I am mad,
For here are a million people surly with traffic;
This is no maid.
Neither could I play upon any reed if I had one.
My City, my beloved,
Thou art a maid with no breasts,
Thou art slender as a silver reed,
Listen to me, attend me!
And I will breathe into thee a soul,
And thou shalt live for ever.
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